just close your eyes, there goes the light
by tinted lens
Summary: She escapes by luck. She doesn't know reality, then. / Ponzu-centric. / au. / drabble.


**title; **just close your eyes, there goes the light**  
summary; **She escapes by luck. She doesn't know reality, then. / Ponzu-centric. / au.**  
notes; **au. Ponzu survives after sending the message.

**disclaimer; **don't own _hxh_. the title is from rilo kiley's song, _three hopeful thoughts._

;;

Bullets dig holes into her flesh and she sees the world behind her seeping into a blur, falls back into pools of red and dirt and death, skin bloodstained and barely hanging onto her bones. Gunshots ring in her ears, laughter and distant footsteps following, but she can only hear, reaches aimlessly in the star-lit darkness for something, anything.

Nobody hears her scream.

(all she finds is hope.

but hope is never enough, is it?)

;;

She escapes by luck.

(she doesn't know reality, then.)

;;

Her eyes flicker, one day, feels the sunlight stabbing into her and she snaps them shut as quickly as she pulls them wide open again, over and over until it doesn't matter anymore.

The sky is cloudless, beautiful.

She can't feel her body (except for the pain), can't move, afraid, and the colors dull and spin in her eyes, dried blood on the ground, the same laughter in her mind.

She doesn't know how long it will go on, if it will ever stop.

(maybe she doesn't want it to stop.)

;;

She is not stupid – she knows what are edible and what are not, knows how to stay alive.

So she survives, (barely).

Her legs are still numb, despite the antidote she eats, and the surrounding plants are running out. She thinks she might as well be dead, by the time she can imagine counting her ribs through her torn out, loose clothes (if she could) and her mouth is becoming too dry to sing herself lullabies.

But she doesn't want to die that way.

;;

She crawls, rolls down the grass-covered land and farther away into the forests, lost among leaves and twigs, danger still approaching fast behind. She doesn't know where she is, where she's going or if things are better, if she can escape.

Another group of them invades the area, just moments after she gets away. She can't decide if she should feel thankful or regret as she tries to drown out the screams and yells and pleads, convincing herself that _they are not there_, _they do not exist_ even though they are and she should be scared but she knows she can't afford to be.

She has to go. Maybe – maybe, maybe he's still there, somewhere. She can make it.

(can't she?)

;;

Later, she gazes into the starless skies and asks.

She doesn't wait for an answer to know.

;;

There is a small spot, hidden under trees and around thorn bushes and it's tight, small but she fits. She takes another bite of her pill to ease the pain. She can make it, she tells herself again, putting grass into her mouth and swallowing it just as quickly.

She survives another night.

;;

She is scared. There are no bees or familiar buzzes to comfort her, to let her know she has something, anything behind her.

She wants to scream, loud and echoing but even when she tries to, nothing comes out, only sobs and whimpers and it leaves her lips trembling and cold, missing warmth and safety.

Don't worry, don't worry, she writes, on the mud and in tree barks and the sky with her bony fingers, only one more day. One more day.

One more day and maybe, just maybe, this will all end.

(she swallows one more, saves the last.)

;;

She stands up.

There are berries inside her pockets, the color pale and alluring and she knows they're poisonous (or maybe they're not) but she is aware, the images still playing in her head. She carries it anyway.

She runs, doesn't look back.

;;

Closer.

Her ears catch muffled conversations, far behind. She clutches the berries tighter in her palm, as if trying to burst them open.

(no—)

She shakes her head, holds her breath, uses the last of her strength to climb up the tree.

;;

They're gone and she collapses, barely managing to grasp a branch and hang onto it. Her breathing is heavy and filled with relief and joy and regret and something else—

(another.)

;;

It doesn't take too long for the blow to knock her unconscious.

(the berries, Ponzu, remember the berries—)

;;

(sorry.

I'm sorry I couldn't save you.

I'm sorry I wasn't there.)

;;

She wakes up, on the edge of another sleep but she holds on long enough, vision distorting and limbs numbed to uselessness.

Poison, she whispers. Fitting.

;;

They bring him out.

She thinks she's already dead, now.

;;

She takes the cowardly way out.

She turns around, closes her eyes shut and puts them into her mouth.

She gives a picture perfect smile to herself.

;;

(three, two, o—)

;;

Her corpse slides against the skeletons, toppling them into the grimy floor. They don't bat an eyelash, just carries her roughly and one of them grins, takes the blade and slices her with sickening precision, the way cats play with their claws.

She is the last supply for the day.

;;

**asdfghjkl what the hell is this. behold the result of writer's block for the last days of semester holiday.**

**review? clarify if this is awful or not?**


End file.
